


Lost in the Heat of it All

by LifeInAColorWheel



Category: Funny Games (2007)
Genre: Blowjobs, But not in a nice way tbh, Choking, Controlling, Fucking, Gunplay, Kinky, M/M, Not exactly rape though, Pet Names, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Kissing, Slight Bondage, Smut, Well this is new, degrading
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-17 03:27:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12356469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LifeInAColorWheel/pseuds/LifeInAColorWheel
Summary: After their usual game, Paul has to remind Peter of his worth—or lack of it.orPaul fucks Peter in the bed of the family they killed and also he's really mean I'm sorry.





	Lost in the Heat of it All

The scene of the house was dismal. Like usual, once the game was over, Paul was the first to get bored with the scene. While he liked to stay around to admire how it had all played, there was a certain restlessness that typically took over after a bit. He preferred to just grab something to eat and head off.

It was quiet now, almost dauntingly so. Three people lay on the hallway floor. One had been shot, two stabbed. The carpet was sodden with their blood and most definitely ruined; Paul was not too fond of having a big mess left behind but unfortunately, it was a price of their game.

Paul hummed softly as he walked down the hall, stepping over the bodies. He casually had the golf club propped up on his shoulder. 

“What a mess we’ve made,” he mused in a quiet voice. He turned back to Peter. “We really ought to clean up after ourselves sometimes.”

“You’re right,” Peter said, looking around at the scene. Traditionally, they liked to make their games as clean as possible while still keeping it as drawn-out as long as they could. Difficult it was, but Paul liked a challenge.

“Course I am,” Paul mumbled.

Peter leaned down and picked up the gun off of the floor. He wiped some of the mess off of it, admiring it as though it were a toy or a prized possession of some sort.

Paul yanked the gun out of his hand, looking thoroughly annoyed. “Quit messing with that, Tubby.”

“Stop calling me that,” Peter said, doing his best to duck away. He looked mildly annoyed but overall he just seemed embarrassed.

Paul just rolled his eye and threw the gun on the couch before turning back to him. “Stupid, you are,” he said placidly, leaning over and yanking on his hair forcefully. 

Peter let out a whine, trying to pry himself away as he slapped at Paul’s hand. “Paul—Paul, quit that,” he protested.

Paul gave a bit of a laugh, entangling his fingers in Peter’s hair in order to keep his attention. “Jesus _Christ_ , you’re such a bitch.”

Peter went bright pink, whining again. He always seemed to have a good idea of what this would lead to, especially when Paul started talking like _that_. “Paul, c’mon, please don’t do this…”

Paul yanked him by the hair again to force him to look up. “What’s the matter? _Aren’t_ you a bitch?”

Peter looked away shamefully, still blushing. He shifted on the couch as if he couldn’t bring himself to look him in the eye. 

Paul was well aware of how much he intimidated him; Peter was well aware of how much he needed him. It brought a sick dynamic to their relationship.

Paul crouched beside him. He spoke very slowly, as if he were explaining a very simple concept to a child. “Aren’t. You.”

“Yes, Paul,” Peter replied, his voice sounding surprisingly coarse. He sounded as though he had a sore throat; he couldn’t bring himself to look Paul in the eye.

Paul sighed dramatically. “You’re so lucky to have me, you know that?” Paul played with the collar of his shirt, tugging on it harshly. “Who else would fucking take you, hmm?” 

“Nobody else,” he mumbled.

“You’re right about that one,” Paul exhaled again. “First time for everything, huh, Tubby?”

“I—I said stop calling me that,” Peter protested.

Paul hit him across the face, still yanking on his hair hard enough to make Peter whine. He hit him a second time, hard enough to leave a bruise on the side of his face. Peter gasped in evident pain.

Paul’s breath was shaky. Peter was sitting there looking so pathetic, taking each hit with no more than a breathy gasp and yet—he still managed to look up at Paul like he was God, as if he were some sort of sick idol.

“Get up,” Paul said.

Peter blinked. “What?”

“You heard me, stand up,” Paul said, grabbing him by the arm. He began to lead him away from the living room, back into the hallway where they had been before. Paul was practically shaking.

“Where—where are we going, Paul?” Peter asked once he was on his feet. Paul didn’t give him a moment before he immediately began to pull him away from there.

Peter tried to avoid stepping in any of the blood as Paul lead him through the hall.

“Don’t get your clothes dirty,” Paul said, ignoring his question. “Walk, you fucking ugly slut.”

Peter almost immediately obeyed, picking up his feet and managing to step over the bodies on the floor. He was able to avoid them overall, but some of the blood from earlier still stained his shoes.

“Where are we going?” Peter asked again.

“Shut up,” Paul said shortly, Peter’s arm still tightly in his grip as he looked around for the master bedroom. It didn’t take him long to find it, a decent-sized room with a decent-sized bed.

Peter just followed, wide-eyed, as Paul marched him into the bedroom.

“They were a young couple. Probably fucked almost every night—something you’ll never get,” Paul said, going through their side drawer. He was successful, finding a small bottle of lube. “Ha. Knew it.”

Peter went pink, blushing heavily. “Oh, Paul, no, please no,” he said. “Paul, please. Don’t—”

He turned back to Peter. “Did you hear what I said? You’ll never get that. Even with me, you’ll never get it. You’re lucky I can even get hard for you.”

Peter swallowed. “Yes, Paul.”

“Yes, Paul,” Paul mimicked. “Jesus, don’t you say anything else? Don’t you think you’re _pathetic_?”

“Y-yes, I’m pathetic,” Peter managed, biting down on his chapped lips. He swallowed thickly before looking up to see if that had pleased Paul.

Paul didn’t say anything. He instead simply walked over to Peter, sticking his hand in the waistband of his shorts. “Take these off. I’m not touching you until I have to.”

Peter undid his shorts with shaky hands and Paul sat back on the bed, observing casually. He exhaled almost impatiently and allowed his head to loll back a bit. “Hurry up before I change my mind.”

“Okay,” Peter said, quickly undoing his shorts and shimmying out of them. “Th-there. They’re off.”

Peter came over to him and immediately Paul clamped a hand down into his hair again, forcing him closer. “Why are we doing this?”

“What?” Peter asked, blinking.

“Why. Are we. Doing this?” Paul asked, yanking his hair with each pause. By that time, Peter was whining and trying to pull away to no avail because Paul now had a bruising grip on his waist.

“Because—I’m supposed to do this,” Peter answered at last, trying to push into the touch but also pull away. “I owe you.”

“Fucking right you do,” He muttered. “I have to babysit your fat ass all fucking day. Least I could do is get something out of it.”

“I’ll be—I’ll be good, Paul. Promise,” he said, trying to find the buttons on Paul’s shirt. His hands were shaky and evidently eager-to-please.

Paul slapped him hard enough to leave a red mark; immediately Peter ducked his head shamefully. “Don’t touch me with your filthy hands,” Paul muttered.

He silently undid his own shirt, sliding it off.

Peter watched in anticipation. His eyes were wide and his body was tense, as if he was just waiting to be told what to do. He chewed his lower lip.

“You really think I ought to fuck you? I’m not sure. You’re kind of an ugly piece of shit,” Paul looked over Peter’s bare chest. “I’m not sure if I can go through with this, really.”

“You—” Peter said, and stopped. He looked away.

Paul caught Peter’s jaw in his hand. “What?” He asked, and tightened his hold when Peter tried to shake his head. “Talk to me, Tubby.”

“You don’t seem to have a problem fucking—fucking me when you’re horny,” Peter said, the words sounding almost uncharacteristic coming from him.

Paul gaped, going from white to bright pink in a matter of seconds. In a matter of seconds, he picked Peter up and forced him back down on the bed; he sat on his stomach, staring down at him.

“You—you’re such a piece of shit. Fucking—you’re a rude little bitch.” Paul was practically shaking with anger, his mouth still parted as he stared down at Peter. 

He moved his hands up. He wrapped them around Peter’s throat, pressing down hard enough to make him wriggle and gasp. Peter’s hands went to Paul’s in a desperate attempt to make it stop, but Paul had a firm enough grasp to make tears form in his eyes. He was trembling.

At last, Paul pulled away and admired the blossoming purple bruises that were already forming. Peter had tears in his eyes and was still struggling to catch his breath.

“P-Paul—” Peter’s voice sounded hoarse and he broke into a coughing fit.

Paul shifted and—

“You said,” Paul laughed. “You said I’m the horny one. And yet, you’re the one who’s hard from being choked. Typical.”

“Pl-please, Paul,” Peter let out a little gasp, turning his head. “I can’t—”

“Can’t what?” Paul asked.

“Oh, _God_ , Paul. Fuck me, please!”

“You think you deserve to be fucked?” Paul demanded, digging his nails into Peter’s milky skin. “Why the hell should I fuck you, huh? Why would _anyone_ want to?” 

Peter just shook his head, tears still in his eyes. He tried in earnest to lift his hips to Paul’s in a weak attempt to gain anything at all but did not succeed. After a few moments of hopelessly trying to gain any sort of friction on his cock, he gave out. He panted in exhaustion.

Paul let out a disappointed noise. “You really are a whore, you know that?”

“Y-yes, Pa— _fuck_!” Peter let out a yelp as an unsuspected hand hit hard against his ass. He felt a jolt of pain rush through him, and right to his cock; the sting sent it a wave of slight pleasure. 

Paul hit him again, harder this time.

Peter let out a gasping whine. "P-please, stop!" he tried to spit out, but it came out as a soft and needy moan.

"But, Tubby, if I stop how will you ever learn?" Paul asked in a drawn-out voice.

Peter tried to crawl out of Paul’s grasp, resulting in another rough smack on his ass. Another jolt went to his cock. It felt as if all the blood in his body rushed straight to his cock and he felt slightly dizzy.

More smacks landed on his ass as he wriggled away, trying to push himself away from the stinging sensation. The contact turned the normally pallid flesh red and blistered.

“Maybe you’ll fucking answer me next time,” Paul muttered, pulling his hand away. Peter had his head against the pillowcase, tears in his eyes.

Humming to himself, Paul pushed his white boxers down to reveal his cock. He had gotten painfully hard from their antics, as much as Paul did not want to admit it. 

Peter reached out and wrapped a hand around it tentatively, resulting in yet rough slap but this time on the face. “Didn’t say you could touch it, did I?”

Peter winced. “N-no, Paul,” he sniffed. “Sorry.”

Paul put his hand on his jaw, rubbing a finger along Peter’s lower lip. He pulled off his glove and forced a finger in his mouth; as if by habit, Peter began to immediately suck on it.

“That’s better. Now open that whore mouth of yours. Let me see it—oh, good,” Paul relished as he pulled his fingers away from Peter’s now-parted mouth.

Paul immediately forced his cock into his mouth. Peter gagged and tried to pull off. Instead, Paul grabbed the back of his head and forced him back down. Spit ran down his chin as he tried to find some sort of rhythm.

The gun was still lying on the bed, Paul noticed. Gripping Peter’s jaw so he would not let off his cock, Paul leaned over and grabbed the gun.

Peter noticed immediately and made a choking sound as he tried to pull off, shaking his head. Paul laughed quietly and just yanked him back down to the hilt; Peter gagged.

“Good, there you go,” Paul trailed the barrel over his jaw and pressed it at the swallow of his throat. “Not so bad, huh? You _trust_ me, right?”

Peter tried to pull off to take in a breath. Paul pushed him back down with a growl, forcing his cock deeper into his throat with a rough thrust.

Paul leaned back, lazily tapping Peter’s temple with the gun as if just to remind him about it. “Don’t quit on me now, Tubby.”

Peter was making obscene, wet, gagging noises as he continuously tried to get some air down. He has saliva running down his chin and his eyes were bloodshot.

Paul pulled out of his mouth, running the barrel of the gun along his lower lip. “You look a lot better like this—on your knees, sucking my cock,” he said, wiping the tears from his eyes with his thumb.

Peter choked a bit more until he finally caught his breath. He pressed his head against Paul’s hipbone as his chest heaved.

Paul leaned down, his hand firmly against the swallow of his throat, and kissed him; it was a long and drawn out kiss that was sure to make Peter’s mind even hazier. Paul pulled away and simply pushed him back against the bed.

Peter swallowed, looking back up at him and rubbing his eyes.

“Hmm,” Paul mused. “Where are your manners, Tubby?”

“Thank—Thank you, Paul.”

Paul snorted nonchalantly. “You’re welcome,” he said. He gripped Peter by the waist and flipped him over so he was propped up on all fours. He slid his hand from his waist to his ass, running his forefinger over his hole mockingly.

“Paul,” Peter complained as he twisted around in the grip. “You know I don’t like this position.”

“Like I care,” Paul grumbled, pouring some lube over his cock. He gave himself a few generous strokes, flicking his tongue over the head. “Besides, I don’t want to look at your face. Got me?”

Peter just whimpered and his shoulders sagged. “Okay, Paul. Thank you,” he sniffed.

“You’re welcome,” He said, digging his fingernails into his hips again. Little half-moon bruises and red cuts had begun to form on Peter’s side from earlier.

Paul poured some lube on Peter’s hole, unapologetically pushing two fingers in with it in one shot.

Peter released a stuttering moan. “P-Paul, slow!”

“Quit your bitching,” Paul snarked, curling his fingers harshly inside of him. He inevitably forced a third and final finger inside of Peter, effectively making him squirm and gasp until his face had turned a delectable pink shade.

“F-fuck, Paul!”

“Watch your language,” Paul reached up to pull his hair back, making Peter’s head shoot back forcefully with a soft protest.

“S-sorry, Paul,” he said, hanging his head again. He was evidently hard, pre-come running down between his shaking thighs. He had his hands balled in the blankets to prevent himself from touching his cock.

Paul pulled his fingers out, leading to Peter giving yet another desperate noise that sounded more like a murmur of Paul’s name. 

“Patience,” Paul muttered. “God, you’re wetter than a bitch somehow.”

“Sorry, Paul,” Peter said, and began to mindlessly babble. “I can’t help it. I can’t wait. Please can you just—oh fuck, please! Just fuck me, please. I’ve been—been so good.”

Paul lined his cock up with Peter’s hole, pressing the head against his entrance and just simply waited there. He ran his nails down his back and smirked down at him.

“You sure you want me to fuck you?” Paul said. “I’m not sure _I_ want to fuck you. I don’t like to put my cock in dirty whores.”

Peter dropped his head. “Paul, please, don’t—I can’t wait. Can you please—oh God!”

Paul pushed his cock into him roughly in one hard moment, sliding into him right to the hilt. Peter’s thighs were evidently shaking as Paul filled him in a single motion. The stretch must have been too much because Peter let out a half-pained, half-pleasured sound.

“That what you wanted?” Paul demanded, keeping himself fully inside of Peter. 

Peter nodded, using one hand to cover his mouth.

Paul managed to laugh. “Pathetic.”

However, he pulled almost fully out again before pushing inside of him to the hilt again. He continued like this. He knew that it hurt Peter more if he went rough and fast; but he was also aware that the tauntingly slow pace aggravated Peter and drove him impossibly insane.

Paul pulled Peter’s arm out from under him and he went down, face-first. He moaned, swearing under his breath as he tried to push back to have Paul go deeper inside of him.

Paul began to pick up the pace. He hit his prostate in a rhythmic pattern, while simultaneously brushing Peter’s now-leaking cock. He never wrapped his hand around it but gave it just enough attention to keep him hard.

Peter pulled Paul in tighter, allowing him to bite into the bruises on his throat. “F-fuck, oh, fuck,” he babbled helplessly, tears running down his face. His lips were dry and chapped.

Paul held his arms behind his back. He grabbed his shirt and wrapped it around Peter’s wrists. He used Peter’s shirt and stuffed it into his mouth.

“That’s what happens when you moan like a fifty dollar whore,” Paul said, forcing his hips into him again. “Nobody wants to hear that.”

Peter spit the shirt out not a few minutes later, trying to take a breath. He was shaking now and hs continued to arch his back. “Pa-Paul, I can’t—oh God, I need to—”

“Need to what? Cum?” Paul practically taunted. “Without even being touched? Can you do that?”

“Yes!” he said, trying to force his hips back further to have the head of Paul’s cock remain pressed against his prostate.

“I guess, I can let you cum,” Paul said after quite literally another five minutes of slow, drawn-out thrusts. Peter was nearly falling apart by then, his eyes full of tears with some mucus running down his nose. He wiped his face on the pillow case but nothing could get rid of the red flush over his cheeks.

“Thank you, Paul, thank you, thank you,” Peter immediately came, his body shaking as he repeated that throughout his orgasm. Paul managed to give his cock a single squeeze, forcing a last shot of cum onto the sheets.

Paul could feel his clenching around his cock, making him grit his teeth. The tight feeling was only urging him on, causing him to pick up the pace for his own self-benefit now.

“St-stop, Paul,” Peter said, once his orgasm ebbed and he was replaced with an overwhelming about of sensitivity. Paul knew he could get like this, where it felt so sensitive after he came that it would make him ache.

“Quiet,” Paul mumbled, his mind hazy and foggy from the incessant tightening of Peter’s hole. He could hardly even focus enough to snap at him properly.

“Paul, it’s too much—” Peter shook his head. “Please, _stop_ , Paul.”

Paul wrapped a hand over his mouth and forced himself into him one last time, emptying into him with a single animalistic noise. He could feel Peter’s hips shifting as he simultaneously tried to push closer and pull away. 

“Fuck!” Paul muttered; he continued to move inside of him until he softened. 

He pulled out, cum dripping between Peter’s thighs. Peter had tears in his eyes and his chest was heaving with each breath. He was shaking his head he tried to steady himself and find _anything_ to stabilize himself.

Paul stood up silently and put his clothes back on. He leaned over and pressed a small kiss to the back of Peter’s head, mussing his hair. 

He looked like such a perfect picture; Paul was ready and willing to admit that. Peter looked up at him with red eyes, his face wet. He had bruises blossoming on his fair skin, large ones on his face and several more around his throat. He had red marks along his hips where Paul had continuously dug his nails. His cock was red and leaking the last bit of cum against his stomach, the remainder on the sheets.

Paul stood back up, looking down at Peter disdainfully. “Clean up your mess for once.”

**Author's Note:**

> You're welcome, bff


End file.
